Taking Back What's Mine
by JenF
Summary: He swears to a God he’s not sure he believes in that someone is going to pay for this. Maybe not today, but one day. Nobody does this to his boy and gets away with it. One shot. They're not mine - I'm just playing with them.


He opens the door to the cellar quietly, slowly. He knows what he'll find. It's dark, cool and damp. As his eyes adjust, his heart skips a beat. His stomach drops, he a feels a weight he never thought he'd feel. He sees Dean – his Dean, his boy – hanging from the ceiling, wrists tightly secured, feet barely touching the floor. His hands are scraped, knuckles bruised, nails torn. Whoever took him had a hell of a fight on their hands. Blood is caked around his wrists where those cruel manacles are digging in oh, so tightly.

His own blood is boiling. He swears to a God he's not sure he believes in that someone is going to pay for this. Nobody does this to his boy and gets away with it.

Dean's eyes are closed, his face pale. His chest is rising and falling erratically and the cellar is filled with the sound of his laboured breathing. His jacket is on the floor and he's only wearing a t shirt and jeans. His clothes are dirty but nothing is torn. His shoes and socks are gone.

John takes a deep breath and raises his eyes to his son's face. For a moment he can't breathe. It feels like a lifetime but in reality it's only a few seconds. Dean's hair is flat, matted down with sweat and blood. A bruise is adorning his left temple and there are numerous cuts and grazes on his forehead and cheeks. His jaw is black and blue. John can't help reaching out to his boy, his hand gently cupping Dean's cheek. He feels reassured that Dean leans ever so slightly into the touch.

"Dean." He needs to see those green eyes open. Alert would be good but for now he'll settle for open. He runs his hand through Dean's hair, looking for a way to get those shackles off. They're locked with a simple padlock that'll be a piece of cake to remove but he really wants Dean awake because he knows once that support is gone Dean is going to crash to the floor. He can't release the manacles and be sure of catching Dean at the same time. For the first time he wonders if he's done the right thing by leaving Sam behind.

"Dean! C'mon kiddo. Let's see those eyes." John's starting to feel desperate. Whoever is behind this could be back at any moment and they need to be out of here.

Dean's making a strange whimpering sound now and his sudden return to consciousness takes both of them aback with it's speed and violence. He jerks his head back, trying to get as far away from John as possible. The action knocks his equilibrium for six and he loses what little footing he has. The added weight on his shoulders causes him to cry out in pain. His eyes are darting around furiously and he's swinging his body wildly away from John.

John catches hold of him as gently as possible, hating the fact that he's probably causing his son more pain and distress. He can feel that at least two ribs are broken and the way Dean's breath catches in his throat worries him. He sets Dean steady and grasps his chin, turning his head to look him in the eye as he waits for the confusion to fade.

Dean's eyes are glassy and wide. Slowly though he blinks away the uncertainty and John can pinpoint the moment he's back with him. He stops struggling and his head starts to droop with exhaustion.

"Dad?" It's a pathetic, lost sounding question. His son sounds all of five years old.

"Yeah, it's me son. You're safe now." He keeps murmuring comforting platitudes as he searches Dean's eyes, looking for the clarity that he needs before setting him loose. He reaches up to the manacles, letting go of Dean's face.

It's as he thought. The lock is but a moment's work and as soon as Dean's wrists are free, he falls forward like a felled redwood. John grunts with the effort of holding him upright, trying not to hurt him any more. Dean's head falls on to his shoulder and John can almost smell the relief seeping through Dean's pores.

He holds his son for as long as he dares before tilting his head towards his ear and whispering, "We have to go now, son. Can you walk?" He can feel Dean running through an internal check list before he nods wearily. He pulls his head away from John's shoulder and John feels an inexplicable sense of loss. He has to remind himself that Dean is still with him, still alive. He pulls one arm over his shoulders, ignoring the hiss of pain that it elicits from Dean. Right now his priority is to get them out of this hellhole. He doesn't even want to know what's under that cloth on the floor.

He's moving towards the door when Dean pulls up abruptly.

"Wait," he gasps, "my jacket."

John pauses. He wants to get out but he knows that Dean places importance in strange things. He wasn't aware that it was a favourite item but if it'll get Dean moving again he'll make damn sure they have that jacket. He shuffles them forward and props Dean against the wall while he retrieves the jacket from the floor. It's damp and musty, as if it's been lying there for a long time. The smell of it reinforces his guilt. He should have found Dean quicker, he should have realised sooner that he wasn't just out with some nameless girl someplace, he should have known that Dean would have called. Sam tried to tell him but he was too wrapped up in his obsession and now Dean is paying the price for his arrogance.

He's back by Dean's side just in time to halt the slow slide back to the floor. He propels them forward to the door, stopping only to listen for company. When he's happy they're still alone he begins the arduous task of getting them up the stairs. Luckily Dean's legs seem to be working well enough. Sure, he's as a weak as a kitten right now, but his brain is sending the right signals to his legs and they're doing what they're told.

By the time they've reached the top, John is carrying Dean rather than supporting him. His head is lolling back and John is worried that he's about to lose consciousness again. He's fully aware that his boy is hanging on to reality by a fingernail. He's never been more grateful to see the Impala.

He gets Dean into the back seat, lays him down and covers him with a blanket. Dean's eyes have closed again and although John knows he should keep him awake he also knows that they don't have time to lose. Whoever took Dean will be back soon and he doesn't have time to deal with them right now.

As the Impala roars to life John just wants to get them back to the motel where he can take care of his eldest and start to put this behind them, behind all of them.

Out of the rear view mirror he watches the house fade in the distance like a bad memory.


End file.
